


Unfinished Business

by Pennygirl612



Category: White Collar
Genre: Dark Peter, Gen, Heavy Angst, Post Series, may be out of charactor, some depiction of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:48:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22340581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pennygirl612/pseuds/Pennygirl612
Summary: As Peter entered the warehouse, everything felt surreal.  Agent Burke was a rule follower, always keeping his crayon within the lines and never straying outside boundaries.  Furthermore, Agent Burke was a planner, practically scheduling any thoughts of spontaneity.  Lastly, Agent Burke was an obsessive attention to detail guy who carefully weighed all options before forging ahead with the most logical course of action.  Agent Burke would never act on impulse or resort to making emotionally charged decisions.  And there in lie his biggest problem.  Agent Burke wasn’t here and Peter Burke for first time in his life had no real plan.
Relationships: Elizabeth Burke/Peter Burke
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own White Collar. If I did, we would have had a movie by now.

Peter was home lying in bed with his wife when he got the call. It came in on the burner phone purchased three years earlier for one specific purpose, the number provided to the one person who had been tasked simply to find someone who didn’t want to be found, someone whose very life depended upon remaining safely hidden amongst the shadows, never being seen or worst yet, recognized. 

Mere minutes after the call, Peter was kissing his wife goodbye and heading out the door, dressed casually in dark jeans and a black t-shirt. Left at home were both his badge and service gun. This particular night Peter knew he could not think of himself as an FBI agent, not when he still wasn’t sure what he was about to do but yet was fully conscious of the fact that either way he would be crossing lines not to be uncrossed, entering an area so grey, he might not even recognize himself upon his return.

The fear that came with uncertainty plagued Peter until he got a grip on himself, tamping it down deep into the recesses of his mind and locking it away. He didn’t stop to consider the simple act of setting this whole thing in motion was proof in and of itself that Peter had in fact already been changed. Instinctively, Peter knew to dwell on such matters now would risk further indecision, analysis paralysis when the time came to take action and the potential of living with regret for the rest of his life.

Finding himself outside of a warehouse deep within the New York shipping community, Peter couldn’t believe this moment had been three years in the making. He had never doubted that he would find his man and of course it may have taken less time if he had been able to look for himself rather than farm out the work to a private contractor, but it wasn’t exactly something Peter could use Bureau resources on. No, this had been a very personal matter; so personal in fact there were only two other people who knew about his side project: his wife, Elizabeth, and the very resourceful person he had trusted with the search. No, Peter never doubted the day would come; he had only harbored apprehension about what would happen next.

As Peter entered the warehouse, everything felt surreal. Agent Burke was a rule follower, always keeping his crayon within the lines and never straying outside boundaries. Furthermore, Agent Burke was a planner, practically scheduling any thoughts of spontaneity. Lastly, Agent Burke was an obsessive attention to detail guy who carefully weighed all options before forging ahead with the most logical course of action. Agent Burke would never act on impulse or resort to making emotionally charged decisions. And there in lie his biggest problem. Agent Burke wasn’t here and Peter Burke for first time in his life had no real plan. 

For years Peter had dreamed about this moment. He’d also had an equal number of nightmares. Naturally, his wife had been there through it all. Over countless discussions, she had assured him that when the time finally came, Peter would know what was right. On this particular night, she had recognized Peter didn’t need to rehash previous conversations but instead needed a comfort only she could provide; the understanding and reminder that he had unfinished business. There had been no judgment in her eyes, no unsolicited advice from her lips; just pure unconditional love by way of a gentle squeeze to his hand and a simple promise that she would be home waiting no matter what he decided to do. 

Peter took in a deep breath and slowly released it back into the surrounding darkness. The sounds of his own pounding heart were the only noise filling his head. He closed his eyes and focused on slowing down the beat trying to find a gentle peace within that would allow him to move forward. After what seemed an eternity, Peter succeeded and found a place of serenity within. After one more deep breath, he forged forward knowing the time had come to face what lie ahead.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sensing he was no longer alone, the man ceased struggling and became very, very still. “Who’s there?” The man finally asked.
> 
> Peter didn’t respond as he moved in closer and made one circled loop around the chair. The man cocked his head listening, hearing only the sounds of Peter’s steps on the concrete floor.

Guided by a series of propane camping lanterns, Peter walked deeper into the warehouse until he caught sight of a single metal chair bolted to the floor and the man tied to it. His head was covered loosely with what appeared to be a pillow case and he was clearly attempting to break free. As Peter neared, he could see blood around the man’s wrists and ankles where the plastic zip ties had cut into the skin. 

Sensing he was no longer alone, the man ceased struggling and became very, very still. “Who’s there?” The man finally asked.

Peter didn’t respond as he moved in closer and made one circled loop around the chair. The man cocked his head listening, hearing only the sounds of Peter’s steps on the concrete floor. 

“I know you’re there. Answer me, you coward!” The man practically spit out.

His words struck a nerve with Peter. And as he felt his anger grow, he started pacing in front of the man in an attempt to blow off some steam rather than physically strike out. As he paced, mentally Peter ticked off all the things this man had done that Peter considered cowardly: betraying the badge out of greed and killing his superior officer to cover up his corruption; abandoning his wife and three year old son and leaving them to fend for themselves all those years in Witsec; killing Ellen and the marshals protecting her; taking on a false identity to weasel his way back into his son’s life because he needed his son’s help to find and destroy the evidence of his corruption and murdering ways; later using that son’s desperate need of a relationship with his father to push away Peter, a man more a father to Neal than anyone had ever been; and lastly killing Pratt and running away to leave Peter not only to take the fall for the murder but in a position unable to help pick up the shattered remains of a son once again abandoned by his father. 

Peter forced himself to stop, take a breath, and regain control of his emotions. “A coward, you say? That’s pretty ironic coming from you,” Peter said keeping his voice low and flat. 

The man had returned to pulling and testing the ties but stopped and cocked his head at the sound of Peter’s voice. “I know you, don’t I?”

Without a word, Peter stepped forward and ripped off the pillow case. “Hello, James.”

It took a minute for his eyes to adjust, but once he could see clearly again, James Bennett snarled, “You! Cut me loose, Agent Burke.”

“No,” Peter said staring at James with a neutral, controlled expression. It would not do for him to reveal his emotions or reflect the inner turmoil that the sight of this man brought to the surface. Now was the time Peter needed to keep control and maintain discipline. 

“What the fuck?” James exclaimed when Peter made no move to release him. More forcefully, he repeated, “Cut me loose…now!”

Blatantly ignoring James, Peter surveyed the room until his eyes settled on a wooden table against the wall and the large black duffle bag lying upon it. Without hesitation, Peter approached the bag and examined the contents inside. A quick glance behind him revealed James was watching, curious about the bag or maybe more interested in what Peter was planning.

Peering inside, Peter was rather impressed with the selection provided especially since he and the contractor had never openly discussed specifics of what Peter would do once his target had been acquired. His choices were diverse but all had one thing in common: they would get the job done.

Peter took item after item out of the bag, each one he gave careful examination of before setting aside to pick up the next one. Since he knew James was watching he took his time and was deliberate in consideration of each. When at last the bag was empty of its contents, Peter casually pulled on a pair of blue latex gloves. He drummed one hand on the table as if unsure of which item he wanted to select.

“A smorgasbord of choices,” Peter muttered just loud enough to be heard. “It’s an impressive collection, don’t you think, James?” Peter asked, motioning towards the display. Receiving no response, he picked up the garrote. It was a homemade job consisting of piano wire attached on either end to wooden handles. 

James snorted in disgust. “Please. Am I supposed to be scared? Do you honestly expect me to believe that Special Agent Goody Two Shoes is going to kill me? We both know that’s a line you can’t cross and frankly, Burke, you just don’t have it in you! I’ve been hunted by real killers, yet I’m still here. The likes of you can’t take me down.”

With a noncommittal shrug, Peter returned the garrote to the bag. While expertly designed, the device seemed like something more out of a mafia movie than made for real life. Next, he picked up the clear plastic bag. Looking first at the bag and then back at James, Peter took a second to calculate the size of the man’s head versus the bag in his hand. It would be close, he thought and then he nearly laughed out loud at what he was standing there thinking about. Here he was on the precipice of committing cold-blooded murder and the only thing he was stuck on was whether or not the bag would fit over James’ large head?! A giggle threatened to surface but he swallowed it down. Now was hardly the time to get lost in hysterics.

In the background, Peter could hear James’ voice though he could not make out the words themselves, only the taunting tone behind them. Clearly the man had no clue of the true peril he was in; so steadfast was his belief that he knew Peter Burke and what he was and was not capable of. Not that Peter could blame him. This dark course of action would have seemed unfathomable three years ago, completely outside of his character, and beyond all comprehension. That was before…well, before he had seen his best friend laid out in a body bag in the morgue. 

Not that Neal’s death was James’ fault per se. It wasn’t. That had been the handiwork of one Matthew Keller. A man that Peter had crossed paths with on several occasions, always with the mindset to arrest the man and let justice prevail. But as Peter watched the medical examiner slowly unzip that black bag, Peter didn’t see any justice in what had happened to Neal. He only knew that he could have—should have--prevented his death. He should have listened to Neal and Mozzie when they had told him that there was true evil in the world and that sometimes to stop it, you had to get your hands dirty. All those years, Peter had lived in denial, happy to exist in his blissful ignorance of the true ways of the world. 

That very night, Peter made a solemn vow that he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. Keller had been responsive for countless deaths, some of which might have been prevented if Peter had been willing to get a little messy. By his count, James was responsible directly or indirectly for at least six deaths. While he could not have saved any of them, Peter knew with great certainty that more deaths would follow in the wake of James Bennett unless he was stopped. And this time, to hell with justice. Peter Burke would get down in the dirt and not be afraid to allow some of his own spotless shine to tarnish if that’s what was required of him. 

Peter closed his eyes and focused on breathing in and out, in and out until his mind was clear and once again centered on the mission. Looking over the variety of weapons remaining on the table, Peter tossed the ice pick and large cleaver back in the bag. Both would require tremendous force to finish the deal cleanly. Next went in the small crossbow. Although the weapon intrigued him and most certainly could get the job done with ease, Peter had never used one before and feared if his aim was off on the first shot he wouldn’t have the stomach or fortitude to reload and fire a second ‘kill’ shot. That left only a large hunting knife and a black semi-automatic pistol out on the table. 

Testing the knife, Peter found it to be of a good weight and length, and its partially serrated stainless steel edge made it versatile to use both as a thrusting or a slicing weapon. Using a knife demanded a certain intimacy with the victim, a dance between known partners. Peter both knew and hated James on the most personal of levels causing the knife he was holding to further fuel his contempt and rage.  
Absently, Peter toyed with the knife, turning it over and over again in his hand while his mind…his mind played out a very graphic scene. Peter could clearly visualize his approach; how he would circle behind James, roughly grab the back of his hair before yanking his head back to expose his neck and the carotid artery. 

Just as Peter was about to make the decisive strike, something snapped him back to reality and away from the ugly video playing in his mind. Feeling exposed in a way he had never felt before, Peter was ashamed of his vision and how seemingly easy the actions had come to him. Looking down to find the knife still in his hand, Peter dropped it like it was suddenly searing into his flesh and watched as it fell harmlessly to the floor.

“What did you just say?” Peter asked James. He knew it was something the man had said that had gotten his attention.

“I said, how’s my son?” James repeated, feeling victorious he had finally been able to sidetrack Peter from his thoughts.

“You don’t know?” Peter asked, carefully watching James’ expression. When he received only a blank look in return, Peter filled James in, “Neal died three years ago.”

“Hmm…that’s too bad,” James said almost mockingly.

A chill crept into Peter’s bones as he watched Neal’s father stare back at him absent of all emotion on his face, a cold emptiness within his blue eyes. Still, Peter waited for him to ask questions, to seek out the circumstances of Neal’s death. Only James remained utterly silent, his face reflecting a near boredom expression in hearing that his only son was gone. It was as if Neal’s death was of no consequence, almost irrelevant to James, and that knowledge only further encouraged Peter to push forward to finish what he had started.

With only the gun remaining on the table, Peter hesitantly reached for it. To shoot James execution style was a bit of a cliché and seemingly an impersonal way for him to die when this was very much indeed a personal matter for Peter. There was the added fear that every morning when he strapped on his own gun and every night when he secured it safely away, he would be reminded of this moment. Would he view it as an instant of weakness when he had let evil into his heart long enough to commit a murderous deed or would he be proud of the action he had taken? Neither seemed like a promising response to live with day after day, night after night.

Then an unexpected thing happened. The moment Peter picked up the gun a sudden calmness settled inside him. Unlike the knife, the pistol felt familiar; nothing more than an extension of his arm, a very part of him. It was familiar like an old friend, and more importantly, it felt right! 

That’s when Peter had an epiphany that put everything into the proper perspective. Elizabeth had been right! All of his worry and concern about making the right decision had been for naught. And while it went against everything he believed in as a law enforcement officer to completely disregard the law, to essentially seek out his only brand of vigilante justice; Peter knew with an absolute certainty that he was going to kill this man, right here, right now and somehow in the aftermath, he would find a way to live with himself. 

Now Peter wasn’t foolish enough to think it would be easy. It wouldn’t, but he reminded himself that taking a life should never be easy or something to be taken lightly. And if in his guilt, he did relive this moment every day and every night, then so be it. It wasn’t something to be feared but rather embraced. It was a reminder that, yes, he had taken a life, but in doing so, he hadn’t completely diminished the honorable man he was deep down in his core. If Peter ever held a gun in his hand and didn’t think of James’ death, well, now, that was a moment to be feared because it meant Peter’s very soul had been lost.

Focusing on James, Peter’s vision narrowed to near tunnel like precision, laser beam locked in only on his target. While Peter could clearly see the man and could see his lips moving, he could not make out the words. Peter could hear nothing as if they were together in the vacuum of space where no sound could be transmitted. James could have been pleading for his life or taunting him again. Peter didn’t know nor did he care so consumed by the ‘rightness’ of his actions as he calmly settled in and took aim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always welcome comments but am particularly interested on thoughts about this one. I suspect most won't like this one because: A) Peter's the primary focus and there's only the mention of Neal and B) it's a much darker fic than I typically write for the White Collar world. Still, I couldn't see just leaving it to collect cosmic dust on my hard drive. The muse insisted it be put out there and to let the chips fall where they may regarding hits and kudos.


End file.
